


Madness Will Reign

by karuvapatta



Series: Evil Thor [2]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Dubious Consent, Gags, Light BDSM, M/M, Mindfuck, Non-Sexual Bondage, although the non-sexual part is debatable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-22 23:04:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4854002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karuvapatta/pseuds/karuvapatta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He stood still while Thor put the thing between his lips, trembling with rage and disgust but ultimately giving in.</p><p>(now with 2 more chapters!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Umm, this contains ball gags, breathplay, bondage and other stuff I'm into, so be warned about that. I don't know where this fic is headed or if there's going to be more of it, but... Oh well. Enjoy!

He stood still while Thor put the thing between his lips, trembling with rage and disgust but ultimately giving in. Easy, like an obedient dog.

The thick shape pressed down onto his tongue, filling his mouth with its obtrusive presence and a faint metallic taste. He could barely move his lips, shifting them minutely around the base of the plug, only to brush against the leather underside of the muzzle. His first instinct was to spit the thing _out,_ but the metalwork held firmly to his jaw and Thor's deft fingers were now clipping it shut at the back of his head.

Back in New York, Thor hadn't been quite that creative.

"Breathe," Thor told him. Gently, _almost_ gently, he undid the knot holding Loki's hair back and let it fall around his face.

The first few breaths Loki took sounded loud and panicked, as he had to focus on each inhale and exhale. The intrusion in his mouth made him feel breathless, light-headed; yet again, he tried to spit it out. He might have trembled a little, swaying under the intensity of Thor's electric blue eyes and his own rising panic.

Thor watched him with blatant curiosity and an indulgent smile. Oh, how Loki hated the look on his face, loathed it with every fibre of his being—if only he could talk, he would—

"We are not done," Thor said. Another shape shimmered into existence between his palms: a strap of leather with metal adorning. A collar, to match the muzzle. Loki said and did nothing while Thor put it around his neck, even though the fleeting touch of a hand at his nape made him almost nauseous with nostalgia and regret.

He tilted his head back, exposing his neck, and hoped it would look more like a challenge than submission. He would have smiled and licked his lips, too, but the ball-shaped gag still held his tongue firmly down, almost chocking him with the excess of saliva he had to strain himself to swallow. It wasn't uncomfortable by itself, as it didn't obstruct his airways or triggered his gag reflex, like a cock would.

Surprisingly, it was something Thor hadn't yet tried to shove down his throat.

Thor put one end of the collar through the metal loop at its front and began tightening it around Loki's neck. It fitted quite snuggly, cold against his skin but quickly warming. Loki could almost see a reflection of himself in Thor's pleased expression, and the image made him want to puke.

But Thor didn't stop there. He gave another gentle tug, and Loki took a deeper breath, throat bobbing. He realized, panicked, that the leather strap almost prevented him from swallowing, and Thor was pulling it tighter—

"Breathe, I said," Thor said.

Loki _did._ He tried, in increasingly desperate attempts, to draw enough air into his lungs to chase away the black spots at the edges of his vision. And throughout all of this Thor was watching him so steadily, hands around Loki's throat as if Loki's very life was his to toy with.

Perhaps it was. Perhaps Loki glimpsed a strange sort of peace beneath all that hysteria. If Thor were to strangle him, right here and now – well, it was his right, wasn't it? He had won. He _always_ won.

Thor loosened the collar, enough to let Loki breathe. But it was still there, its presence a firm reminder of the single breathless moment where Loki could only stare helplessly into Thor's blue eyes.

"Is this not easier?" Thor said gently, brushing away Loki's hair and kissing his temple.

Loki was only dimly aware of a pair of handcuffs forming around his wrists and the length of silvery chain Thor attached to them. It made a soft clinking noise and was so delicate that it was almost insulting, that Thor didn't consider Loki capable of breaking out of it. But then again, given the faintest crackle of lightning running along, perhaps Loki really wasn't.

The chain tugged at his hands, forcing them upwards. The other end of it clamped itself to the metal loop at the front of Loki's collar.

Thor took a step back, pleased with his work. Loki was almost grateful for the gag in his mouth, because being bereft of Thor's presence left him lost, untethered.

"See?" Thor said. "Is this not your natural state?"

Loki recognized the irony of having his own words thrown back at him, and would have congratulated Thor on the well-placed line. If not for the horrible, nagging feeling that Thor was _right._

Something had happened to Thor, well beyond Loki's understanding. It turned his gaze distant, as if he could see more than even Heimdall ever could. But now, in this very moment, Loki recognized a shadow of the man Thor used to be, and the rage he had been trying to fight since the days of their youth.

Thor seized his chin and hissed, right into Loki's ear, "I'm going to make you pay for every bit of grief you've ever caused me, _brother_."

Almost immediately, however, his touch softened. His lips brushed Loki's temple, a strong arm winding around Loki's back to bring him closer.

This was so much more than Loki could handle. He swallowed, carefully, and closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of ozone and the familiar warmth of Thor's skin.

He knew that he deserved the punishment. He also knew he would bear it gladly.


	2. Chapter 2

It crept along his spine: the warmth, the tiny pinpricks of humiliated pleasure. He hardly knew what to do with himself, where to put his hands or mouth, where it would be  _allowed_.

Thor was watching him from somewhere above, with cold blue eyes and a frightening smile.

“You were about to tell me something, I believe,” he prompted gently, tightening his fingers in Loki’s hair.

From the position he was in, on his knees before Thor, Loki had tangible evidence of his once-brother’s interest in the proceedings. But he made a vow to himself before he made one to Thor, and it was that he would  _not_ break. He might be a spineless coward, a liar and a traitor, trickster with no truth to his very name. He might be that and thousand other things besides, everything Thor proclaimed him to be with quiet regret in the depths of the dungeons, branding his skin with lashes that didn’t feel half as real as the words spilling from his mouth.

He was still Loki. Ultimately, still his own.

His fingers teased the outline of Thor’s cock, climbing deftly to undo the laces and draw it out. It was a little daunting to behold, huge and stiff in his palm, its bright pink head already beading with fluid. But perhaps a show of submission was what he needed to distract Thor. Perhaps—

He began with a light grip on Thor’s cock and a kiss to his waist, lips brushing skin. He could taste electricity with his tongue, but it was foolish: there was just Thor’s skin, warm and golden, muscles quivering faintly. The cock pulsated in Loki’s hand while he licked the base of it, Thor’s self-control slipping a little, all because of this, all because of  _Loki_.

It felt  _right_. He took Thor in his mouth, easily, he was good at this, he was _good_. He would make this good. It wasn’t too late, if he was  _good_  Thor might still forgive him.

He swallowed every bit of come his king had to offer, already greedy for more, pathetic and needy. It tasted right. It tasted like victory.


	3. Chapter 3

He was safe here. Relatively speaking.

The land was scorched dry, poisonous fumes erupted from somewhere below it, and he could see the orange glow of fire in the distance. Every misstep threatened to send him down into the lake of molten lava, or into the loving embrace of Muspelheim’s hospitality.

And yet he was safe. Thor would not find him here.

Loki found a cave to call his home, filled with dust and stench of things burning. Nothing lived here, and nothing grew; it was almost like being cast away into the Void all over again. It left him terrified, like the coward he was. He slept wedged between two boulders, scarcely able to catch his breath and grateful for every slow, painful draw of air into his lungs.

He dreamt of Thor. The dreams were pleasant at first: from kinder times, when they still called each other brother. When Thor smiled at him, his hand at the nape of Loki’s neck, nothing but kindness in his bright blue eyes. Back then, he was blissfully unaware of the ugly growth of resentment in Loki’s heart. And, years before that, so was Loki.

Dream-Thor’s palm slid over his neck, thumb coming to trace the shape of Loki’s cheekbone. His skin was rough, always had been, but the texture of it was comforting. And it radiated heat, drawing the cold from Loki’s bones; he felt it brush his lips, back, back then. Back then he had held still, motionless, unsure if his kisses would be welcome.

Thor didn’t touch him like that anymore. He had watched, impassively, as the guards dealt Loki’s punishment. Afterwards, Loki would sometimes feel a hand on his forehead, and a gentle voice soothing the worst of the pain. And yet, once he awoke, Thor never showed him anything other than cold indifference.

A weakness on his part, then. Or a weakness on Loki’s, if Thor’s kindness was just a figment of his imagination.

***

Mornings and evenings blurred together into one hazy string of heat and ash. His throat was parched dry, but searching for water in this place was pointless. As was, presumably, hoping for rain; not a drop fell from the clouded sky, in all the days he had spent here.

Weather in Asgard changed ever since Thor assumed the throne. Thunder now heralded his wrath all over the Nine Realms. The mortals learned to fear it, as they did centuries ago.

Loki did not fear thunder. And yet he spent day after day, his eyes fixated on the sky, waiting for a flash of bright blue light.

***

He was safe here. Safe, safe, all alone in this dead land—

He began to talk. Then sing. His voice turned hoarse. But he preferred it to the cold, oppressive silence. He preferred to laugh until he had no more breath to waste. Until he dropped to his knees, vision going black at the edges, palms sinking deep into the ashes.

***

No-one would find him here. He was safe. Yet again, he had outwitted his fool of a brother.

Thor had let him out of the dungeons a few months ago. Every day since, Loki had fought waves of pathetic, humiliating gratitude.

Odin would never let him walk free. But Thor had always been kinder than their father, having faith in Loki when no-one else did. There was no condescension in his gaze when Loki finally gathered the courage to ask—

His laughter sounded hollow in the dark, empty cave. He needed the open sky, wind caressing his skin, rain falling on his face like a thousand gentle kisses. And the flash of thunder streaking across the clouds. Terrifying. Awe-inspiring. Most of all, familiar.

Thor granted him the forgiveness he had asked for. He gave him everything Loki yearned for but did not deserve: love, acceptance, purpose. His kiss was so kind, endlessly patient. And there was such happiness in his gaze—

Soft lips brushed his temple. Strong hand cradled the back of his head and brought him close, to the safety and warmth of his brother’s broad arms. He could almost feel it.

***

Thor would not find him here. He no longer cared enough to look.


End file.
